


One, Two, Magic

by manic_intent



Series: One, Two, Magic [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Not very much of plot otherwise, That fic where a chess game escalates rather abruptly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game was finally starting to move into Dorian's favour when the meaty thudding sounds of something heavy hitting flesh drifted across the courtyard. Commander Cullen looked up sharply, with something in the keen, alert tilt of his jaw reminding Dorian incongruously of the well-bred coursers that his mother had so loved, then Cullen glanced back at their game.</p><p>"Qunari mating habits," Dorian suggested, just to watch Cullen flush and scowl.</p><p>"Hardly. It's something about conquering fear. Inquisitor Adaar explained it to me. He was quite serious about it too. Very, ah, cultural.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Magic

**Author's Note:**

> LOVED this game. 
> 
> First Inquisitor: Diplomat playthrough: M!Adaar Mage x Dorian  
> Second Inquisitor: Sarcasm playthrough: F!Trev Warrior x Cullen 
> 
> For purposes of fic, mixing up the elements a little. :3 In this fic, M!Adaar Mage is x Iron Bull.

I.

The game was finally starting to move into Dorian's favour when the meaty thudding sounds of something heavy hitting flesh drifted across the courtyard. Commander Cullen looked up sharply, with something in the keen, alert tilt of his jaw reminding Dorian incongruously of the well-bred coursers that his mother had so loved, then Cullen glanced back at their game.

"Qunari mating habits," Dorian suggested, just to watch Cullen flush and scowl.

"Hardly. It's something about conquering fear. Inquisitor Adaar explained it to me. He was quite serious about it too. Very, ah, cultural.”

Dorian shook his head slowly, even as he moved a pawn on a diagonal. "Sometimes I worry about that one," he said, even as his words were punctuated by another loud smack and a laugh from the Iron Bull.

"Why?" 

"Surely you've noticed. Our Inquisitor is rather young."

"And so?"

"He's a considerably talented mage even by Tevinter terms," Dorian allowed, because although he would be the first to admit he was vain, Dorian still prided himself on being a realist, "But our friend Adaar is. Ah. Somewhat, shall we say, unused to the myriad ways of the world."

"You're saying he's naive."

"Idealistic at the least, certainly."

Cullen glowered at the board. Even the furrowing of his brow didn't have any remotely detrimental effect on the Commander's sheer physical allure, and the worst of it all, Dorian decided sourly, was that Cullen not only seemed to expend no effort whatsoever on his looks, he seemed genuinely unaware of them. If the man didn’t seem to be utterly oblivious to the very concept of sexual play, Dorian would have tried to flirt with Cullen at least once by now, even if it was just to keep his hand in.

"He used to be a mercenary," Cullen said finally. "Ran a group, even. He's no innocent."

"I know. Surprising, isn't it? For someone to be quite an unashamed killer of random strangers _and_ remain so idealistic. I gather that it may have been the fault of doting parents. They must have done quite a number on him when he was in his formative years."

"I think he's doing fine," Cullen muttered, "Are you trying to tell me something about the Iron Bull? If so, just say it. I don't have the patience for riddles."

"I'm saying," Dorian said dryly, even as there was the sound of another loud smack, "That I can't say for certain whether this carrying on with sticks and masochism and dragon body parts is actually some sort of Qunari ritual or, as it were, some sort of sexual quirk of Iron Bull's, and the Inquisitor may be absolutely oblivious about it."

Cullen shrugged. "What doesn't hurt anyone isn't evil." There was another loud smack, and Cullen amended, "Anyone unwilling."

"That's an unusual attitude to take for an ex-templar."

A muscle in Cullen's jaw ticked, even as he moved a knight. "Not hardly. Templars are people like any other-"

"When they're not slavering mineral-based monsters?"

Closing his eyes, Cullen blew out a sigh. "You know there were circumstances. _Your_ mage friends tried to break the fabric of reality and time. In comparison, turning into slavering mineral monsters is rather tame. Civilized, even."

"You're sassing me again." Dorian affected astonishment. "Have a care. I might someday expire from the shock of it all."

"Oh, I don't know. You seem fairly resilient, despite everything."

"What everything?"

Cullen waved a hand distractedly, still intent on the board. "Your bloodline, your strange tendency to only wear partial impractical armor that bares your shoulder, your love of dark magic-"

“ _What_ dark magic? And excuse me, this armor style is currently _highly_ fashionable," Dorian said, now affronted, then realized he had been baited when Cullen smirked faintly without looking up. "Oh, you _bastard_. Go on then. Pick on the 'Vint'."

"I don't have a problem with what you are. These days," Cullen added, as Dorian's bishop attacked, taking one of Cullen's pawns on a diagonal, "We're lucky to take our allies where we can find them."

"The Inquisitor does seem to have gathered quite a following. Some of them even rather decently put together," Dorian allowed. "None as handsome as I, naturally."

Cullen snorted. “Well, yes.”

Having expected Cullen to shrug and say something along the lines of ‘If you say so’, Dorian’s reply had already nearly wormed out of his throat, and he ended up coughing and sputtering, even as Cullen smirked faintly at him. 

“My dear Commander,” Dorian said finally, managing a sly smile. “I never would have pegged you for someone with finer tastes.”

Cullen glowered at Dorian, though Dorian noted that Cullen’s ears were reddening fast. “I’m an ex-templar, not blind.”

“And to think,” Dorian mused, deciding to push his luck, “That all this time we spent playing subpar games of strategy could have been better spent someplace more comfortable.”

This earned him a blank look, which showed that the world hadn’t _quite_ as yet rolled as utterly off kilter as Dorian had thought. “Someplace where? Doing what?”

Dorian let out an exaggerated sigh. “Why, there’s things that I could teach you that you’ll never have learned in a Circle, handsome,” and winked, as outrageously as he could. Cullen stared for a long, puzzled moment, then he suddenly flushed crimson all over, an effect that was in parts adorable and amusing.

“Ah, I… oh, sweet Maker,” Cullen muttered, staring hard at the pieces. “I didn’t… what did you even…”

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Dorian asked lightly. “Seems to be a templar thing in this side of the world. All those ranks of virgin boys with their great big swords. Small wonder they’ve tried to set the world afire. Penetrating the surface of Thedas with thick columns of red lyrium-“

“Would you _please_ ,” Cullen groaned, covering his head in his hands, but then he started to laugh, crimson as he was, and Dorian grinned to hear it, the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull’s rather _physical_ approach to therapy forgotten.

“Tell you what,” Dorian said gently, keeping his tone light, “I’ll give you a good tumble. If you like. You’re an ex-templar. Institutionalised virginity is _so_ pre-Rebellion, isn’t it?”

“I, uh, don’t think, I, well-“

“If it makes it easier,” Dorian continued smoothly, “You can close your eyes, I’ll suck your cock, and then after we’ve had our fun you can go back to… pining over women, or great big steel swords, or whatever it is that rocks an ex-templar’s boat. It’ll be _fun_. I promise.”

“Uh, well, I.” Cullen cleared his throat, but didn’t look up. “The. Ah. Inquisitor. Doesn’t need to learn about this, does he?”

“I can’t see why he’ll care,” Dorian said cheerfully, “I’m fairly sure he and the Iron Bull are busy hoisting each other’s flags as it is.” 

“Dorian.”

“Oh, very well. No one needs to learn about your roll in the hay with the Tevinter mage. I’m not one to brag about these sorts of matters.” 

“… It’s not about you being from Tevinter or being male or a mage, it’s just…” Cullen blew out a nervous, shaky laugh. “Uh. I just don’t like being the topic of gossip. But if you want to. I’ll, uh. I’m, um, curious. About, ah. It.”

“My dear Commander,” Dorian said dryly, rose to his feet, “Much as it pains my pride, were word of this to get out - which it wouldn’t, not from me, in any regard - _I_ will be the envy of most of the women _and_ men in Skyhold, I assure you.”

II.

Cullen got nervous again by the time they made it to his office, and it worsened when Dorian shut and barred the door. “On your desk?” Dorian drawled, as Cullen hesitated by his requisition-swallowed desk. “Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but…”

“Uh, the, ladder up is over here, and,” Cullen swallowed again. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Dorian agreed, “It’s a _great_ idea.” He reached for a few strands of power, and made an admittedly flashy gesture that scrolled the ladder down towards them. “After you.”

If Dorian hadn’t been studying Cullen’s blush, he would have totally missed the flash of lust that crossed Cullen’s face at the little demonstration of power. So it was going to be that way, then. Dorian certainly wasn’t a stranger to partners who got off on magic: mages and non-mages alike. He hid a smirk as Cullen sucked in another shaky breath and started to climb the ladder, giving Dorian a prime view of the Commander’s unfairly shapely rump, for someone who now spent most of his days cooped up in a dreary stone office. 

Cullen’s bedroom was spartan, even by Skyhold-was-long-abandoned measures: a pallet had been set up in a corner: no bedframe as yet, and a crate seemed to serve as a bedside table. An armor rack waited beside the window, and another crate sat in the far corner, presumably carrying what few spare clothes had been made so far for Cullen by the few tailors in Skyhold. The refugees had fled Haven with only the clothes on their back: their leaders included. Like most of the rooms in Skyhold, an old castle sitting on the mountain ranges, it was bitingly cold. 

“It’s not much,” Cullen said, hesitant again, standing nervously by the armor rack as though he was considering diving out of the window at any moment. 

“I _was_ there when we ran away from the evil giant dragon,” Dorian pointed out, amused again. “And I do also currently live here, if you recall. Suffice to say, I’m entirely unsurprised by your current lack of furnishings.” 

Cullen pulled awkwardly at his gloves. “I, uh.” He flinched when Dorian snapped his fingers, lighting up the lantern that sat on the bedside crate. “Maker,” Cullen said then, and his voice had a faint note of wonder in it. “Is magic like that in Tevinter?”

“Like what?” Dorian took advantage of the distraction to prowl closer, until he was nearly pressed against Cullen, one hand stroking up Cullen’s glove, the other cupping up, willing a small mote of fire into the bowl of his palm. “Human magic is the same the world over. Oh, of course, the Magisters in Tevinter might want the locals to believe otherwise, but it’s true.”

“So… so easy.” Cullen touched the tip of one gloved hand to the mote of fire, watching as it licked at the leather. “You use magic as easily as breathing. Not even the Inquisitor does it. The only other one I’ve seen like this is Solas, and he’s an elf.” 

“I _did_ grow up in a society where being _seen_ to be able to use magic effortlessly was socially lauded. Though, to be fair… Cole does it as well. If you count Cole.”

Cullen shuddered. “Cole’s presence is a byproduct of the Inquisitor’s generosity. I try not to think about it.” He blinked, as the mote of fire turned into a smoky shade, a butterfly, then a small bird that landed on Cullen’s finger and cocked its head before fading. That little parlour trick got a delighted laugh from _Cullen_ , of all people, and Dorian found himself grinning along. 

“Strange attitude for an ex-Templar. Or are the Circles you’ve been in such dour places, that magic is used for naught but wards and fireballs?”

“I…” Cullen’s expression froze, and for a moment Dorian regretted bringing up the topic at all. “I was afraid of magic. For a while. And being afraid made me angry, and resentful. I did not like the man I was before.” 

Maker, was the man going to bare his soul instead of more relevant parts of himself? Dorian squeezed Cullen’s arms, pointedly. “You’re a different person now. And if you liked that trick before,” Dorian drawled, as he caught Cullen’s sword hand in his palms and teasingly started to pull off the gauntlet, “There’s more that I can do to you in bed. Far more. If you like.” 

“Yes,” Cullen said shakily, all in a rush, then to Dorian’s surprise, as if on impulse, Cullen leaned over to kiss him, more of a fumbled press of lips than a kiss, a virgin’s touch. Dorian stilled Cullen with fingers curled in the Commander’s thick honey gold hair, and kissed him back, teaching him, until Cullen’s hands were clutched awkwardly over Dorian’s hips, until Cullen was pressing strangled, breathy groans against Dorian’s mouth. 

“Good so far?” Dorian inquired, when they stopped for breath, and felt a ripple of tension curl up over Cullen’s broad shoulders, then a soft laugh, warm over Dorian’s cheek as Cullen bent to kiss his jaw. 

“No magic so far,” Cullen noted, and Dorian had to swallow a startled laugh. 

“Greedy,” Dorian drawled, even as he sketched a mote of frost over his mouth, then pressed his lips high against Cullen’s neck, waiting for the yelp of surprise and, yes, that gorgeous strangled sound of pleasure, then he bit down, not hard enough to bite the skin, pressing his tongue against the chilled skin.

“Oh, oh Maker,” Cullen gasped, clutching Dorian against him, a little uncomfortable given the mail and plate, but Cullen merely let out another strangled sound when Dorian started to pull at the buckles on his armor.

Naked, Cullen was magnificent, Dorian had to admit, his skin soft and pale enough to hold a flush like a warm bloom, spreading down over his cheeks to his neck, lean and superbly fit, with the whetted muscle of a fighting man. Dorian looked his fill greedily, straddling Cullen on the pallet even as Cullen tried to tug up the furs around them, the chill of the night air beginning to make him shiver, their armour and clothes discarded in haste on the ground.

“Don’t worry about that,” Dorian said distractedly, warming the air up around them with a thought, then grinning again as he caught that little flash of lust again in Cullen’s eyes. “Really? Even something like that? My word. Imagine how much information like this might be worth to the other mages in Skyhold. I’d make a _killing_.”

“Dorian,” Cullen growled, and that was a good sound, as well, warm and low, with callused palms from a sword and shield stroking up Dorian’s flanks. “This isn’t as strange as I thought it would be.”

“What? Bedding a mage?”

“No, uh. Not that. I, uh well.”

“Bedding a man?” Dorian corrected himself, amused all over again, and Cullen blushed. 

“Well uh. Yes.” 

“A certain part of you is having a little less doubt than the rest,” Dorian drawled, as he ran a thumb up Cullen’s firming cock, then grinned as a faint spark of arcane energy sent tingling up at the very tip made Cullen curse and claw at the pallet and buck against Dorian’s hips. “Steady on, Commander.” 

Cullen didn’t seem to have the immediate capacity to answer that, hanging on to the edges of his bed as though about to fall off a ledge, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, so Dorian shrugged and kissed his way lazily down Cullen’s jaw, to his chest, sometimes pulling motes of frost to their skin, sometimes fire, but it was the touch of the storm that made Cullen whine and writhe and curse. Cullen was breathing in heaving, broken sobs by the time Dorian worked his way down between powerful thighs, to the heavy cock that waited, already flushed and thick. Larger than his own, Dorian noted critically, as he spat into his palm and took hold of it. Thicker and longer, and a virgin’s cock, one so unused to the touch of another’s hand that Cullen groaned and spilled a thimbleful of fluid at the first experimental tug. 

“Let me know if you need me to slow down,” Dorian warned, as he swiped up the mess with his free hand, and held Cullen’s dazed stare challengingly as he deliberately licked his fingers clean. “Or want me to stop.”

“Why would I want you to stop?” Cullen asked breathlessly, lust and wonder both in his tone, and he groaned as Dorian nipped him on his inner thigh, then again, higher up, with a touch of frost, before willing a ring of force into place, around the base of Cullen’s cock. 

“You can purge that if it gets too uncomfortable, I presume,” Dorian advised him, but Cullen didn’t seem to be listening, whimpering and lifting his hips at the first touch of a tongue against the tip of his cock, then moaning and thrashing as Dorian held Cullen’s hips down and took his cock into his mouth, slow and steady and with a touch of tongue, concentrating on relaxing his throat, trying not to think about his own pleasure, the ache of his own cock pressed against his thigh as Cullen gasped out a hoarse and desperate prayer.

Without the ring in place, Cullen wouldn’t have lasted very long at all. Dorian let Cullen take his mouth, jerky and out of rhythm as it was; this was _one_ sort of power he could get behind, watching a man as normally self-contained and as strong as Cullen shatter apart into pleas and whimpers. Dorian waited, until Cullen seemed to tire, his heels pressing into the sheets as he wailed a broken note strung along Dorian’s name, and then Dorian hummed and sucked hard and dispelled the ring, all at once. 

Cullen broke in a tide, first with a scream torn from his throat, arching against the bed and clawing at the sheets. Dorian drew back just enough that he wouldn’t be choked, but he drank what he could greedily enough, then caught the rest in his palm, waiting until Cullen started to calm, gasping and dazed on the bed, before holding Cullen’s blinking stare and licking his hand clean. 

“Oh,” Cullen whispered hoarsely. “Maker.” 

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” Dorian drawled, then he narrowed his eyes as Cullen groped tentatively for him, dry palm and all. “That’s quite all right.”

“No, I. Uh. I want to. Help.” Cullen dropped his stare, as though embarrassed all over again, but Dorian smiled as he shifted up on the bed, stroking his slick palm briefly up his cock, then curling Cullen’s palm over his flesh, encouraging him to tug and pull until Dorian himself was spent, with a low gasp and fingers dug deep into Cullen’s arms. 

Dorian waited until he had caught his breath before wiping his hands clean on a corner of the pallet, but as he started to reach for his boots, Cullen caught his wrist, his gaze sleepy and unfocused. “Where’re you going?”

“Ah,” Dorian blinked, surprised for a moment before he recovered. “Didn’t think you would want me to stay.”

Cullen frowned at him. “Why not? You’re warm.” 

“Glad to see,” Dorian said dryly, though he curled up on the pallet anyway, and tugged the furs up around them both, “That I have some function after all.” 

“Just stay for a while,” Cullen murmured, pulling Dorian close, and his breathing started to slow, with his arm flung over Dorian’s chest. Dorian prodded at the arm for a while, then he chuckled a little wryly to himself and shifted a little closer.

“Curiosity satisfied?”

“Mm.” Cullen yawned, though he didn’t move. “Not all of it.” 

“Well no. That was just a bit of a tryout, if anything. To see if you liked it.” 

The arm shifted lower, to rest against Dorian’s waist. “I’ll. Like to um. Try more. If you want.”

“Why, how scandalous. An ex-templar and a Tevinter mage.”

“Varric will probably write it into one of those terrible novels, if he hasn’t already.”

“If we were going to play to type in the bedroom,” Dorian said teasingly, twisting a little to nip at Cullen’s jaw, “I say we play it to the hilt or nothing at all.”

“Play what?”

“Well,” Dorian drawled nonchalantly, “You could be the Black Divine, I could be the Archon, we could maybe get something going on that decidedly spiky throne in the hall-“

“Maker,” Cullen said incredulously, “What even… I…” His words stuttered into a startled laugh, though, promisingly enough, he spoke again with his lips pressed intimately close to Dorian’s ear, warm and rough. “You don’t go halves on anything, do you?”

“How tedious life would be if I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
